


Slow Dance With You

by PlutoWillAlwaysBeAPlanet



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A LOT OF DIALOGUE, Ballroom Dancing, But I tried to make it sound historically accurate, Canon Era, First Kiss, Fluff, I don't know how slow dancing works, I hope that worked, It's not formal slow dancing, Lams - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Revolutionary War, Slow Dancing, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:12:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15297171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlutoWillAlwaysBeAPlanet/pseuds/PlutoWillAlwaysBeAPlanet
Summary: “I want to dance with you,” he says instead, the words coming out rushed and jumbled together. He wonders if Laurens could even hear what he said. His friend opens his eyes, resting his head on his legs again, facing Hamilton, a questioning look burning in his gaze.“What?” He mumbles, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. Hamilton takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He cannot take back what he said. He does not want to take back what he said.“I said that I want to dance with you,” he repeats, opening his eyes to find Laurens’s widened in surprise.orAlexander really just wants to slow dance with the man he loves.





	Slow Dance With You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I got inspired by the song from Adventure Time "Slow Dance" and I made this out of it. I haven't really written anything in the Canon Era, but I hope it's good enough. I did not proof read this ahead of time because it's early in the morning and I just want to upload this, so I hope there are not too many mistakes. Thank you!

February 18th, 1780 

 

The ball is extravagant, unlike many have seen during the harrowing years of the war. The ornate room is decorated for the event, it’s pristine walls covered in paintings and golden trim that shone in the candlelight. The ceiling sparkles in the dim lighting, along with the polished wood floors. A large red carpet takes up much of the floor, tables with alcoholic beverages of every kind and light snacks make their way around the edges of the vast room, making it hard for John Laurens to find an escape. With the tables taking up the only otherwise vacant area of the large ballroom, he had no other choice except to be swept up into the frenzy of dancing, drunken men, and women who batted their eyelashes and fanned themselves whenever he happened to glance their way. Laurens’s gaze scans the ballroom, scrutinising every inch and searching for his dearest friend amidst all the chaos. Finally, he finds Hamilton at the far end of the room, champagne flute in hand and lady on his arm. It was exactly what Laurens was expecting of him that he was not even the least bit surprised. Instead, he sinks into the furthest corner until he can no longer walk back for fear of hitting the nearest table. Grabbing a glass of some type of wine off the table closest to him, Laurens takes this time to observe Alexander. His friend throws his head back and laughs graciously at what the woman has said, something Laurens has seen Hamilton do many a time. He exaggerates anything a woman has said, and it charms said woman right off her feet. It seems a similar fate is about to befall this stately lady, until she takes him by the arm and leads him away to another woman, who had been staring at the entire interaction eagerly. Knowing that his dear friend is most likely going to be entertaining about a hundred women tonight, leaving Laurens with no one to converse with, Laurens grabs another glass of wine, the feeling of an oncoming long night sinking low in his stomach. He watches as Hamilton grabs the maiden’s hand and kisses her knuckles (a pang of some strange emotion takes hold of Laurens’s body but he chooses to ignore it) and sweeps the young woman into a dance, escaping the formal minuet and twirling her around several times. Laurens sips his drink bitterly and looks away, feeling immediate guilt and shame for his actions. Why should he feel resentful toward his friend for living his life? For  _ enjoying  _ his life? For being normal? Laurens curses the room for having no chairs and no place to go as he is forced to watch his friend and his friend’s dance partner take the centre stage, laughing and spinning and enjoying each other. 

***

 

Alexander is not relishing this like he knew he should be. He is fond of Elizabeth’s company, but everytime he tries to steal a glance at his friend who is only barely visible from across the room, Laurens is looking away. Alexander frowns, twirling Eliza and quickly offering her a grin before glancing back at his friend. Who seemed very entertained by his shoes. Alexander sighs. 

“Is everything alright?” Eliza captures his attention once more with her question, and Alexander nods his head, smiling. 

“Of course, dear.” He keeps himself from laughing upon seeing Eliza’s blush, bowing to her and then letting her pull him along to another corner of the ballroom, further away from his friend. He tries to steal an additional covert glimpse of Laurens, but he is unable over the crowd of people. He attempts to cover his dour mood with smiles and polite introductions as Elizabeth takes him to meet her friends, who titter amongst themselves upon Hamilton’s arrival into their group, flourishing their fans and sneaking sly glances at him. He feels justifiably uncomfortable, but Eliza is engaged in conversation with a woman that looks the complete opposite of her, blonde hair and blue eyes, a dress of white and red. It would be improper for him to leave her so abruptly and without a formal goodbye. So Alexander waits patiently at the edge of Eliza’s circle of friends, not particularly enjoying the whispers he catches of himself and scanning the ballroom once more. He does not recognise the people here, except for some fellow aides and high-ranking officers. The women are all foreign faces to him, but they take up all of his friend’s attention and he feels quite done with introductions for the night. With nothing left to do, Alexander plucks a bubbling glass of champagne from a servant’s plate and resists downing the entire thing in less than one minute.

*** 

 

Laurens is completely and utterly bored as he picks at the table cloth and tries not to slide down the wall and groan dramatically. He should have stayed at the camp, writing and copying letters into the early hours, but instead he wastes his time at a ball that he did not particularly want to attend in the first place, pulling at the loose threads in tablecloths and drinking more wine than he should. Hamilton has been completely immersed in the crowd, and Laurens is not keen on looking for him. He finally makes a decision as another woman tries to approach him, and hastily sets his glass down on the nearest table and departs for the door, wherever that may be. 

“Laurens!” The familiar voice of Richard Kidder Meade halts John in his steps, turning back reluctantly to face the man who had called his name. Meade, rosy-cheeked and dizzy from alcohol, stumbles over to his fellow aide, smiling at him as he grasps his arm to keep him upright. “Leaving so soon?” His words are slurred together and Laurens knows the morning will not be kind to his friend. He forces a grin and pushes Meade away from him, but doesn’t let go for fear of the other man falling to the floor. 

“I thought it wise before I consume too much alcohol to the point of being unable to function properly come morning,” Meade grips Laurens’s arms and his head lowers as he sways on his feet. 

“But then what is the point of coming in the first place?” Meade blinks at him rapidly and Laurens refrains from saying that he did not want to come at all, actually, and the person who dragged him here has ran off with several women, leaving him alone and slightly annoyed. Instead, he laughs and drags Meade to the nearest table, letting the other man grip the wood and cloth opposed to Laurens’s arms. 

“I shall see you in the morning, Meade,” Laurens waves him goodbye and barely hears Meade shout behind him, “Don’t be such a woman, Laurens!” to which Laurens pointedly ignores. The large, imposing front doors to the ballroom are also quite loud, Laurens finds as he tries to open them without catching others’ attention. That proves pointless, however, when a loud creak emits from the door’s hinges, and, saving himself from embarrassment, Laurens slides through the small space between the doors without looking behind him. Once out into the halls, it is not long before he finds the doors that lead to the outside. The biting chill is more welcome than the suffocating ballroom air, Laurens thinks as he strides over to a bench under a tree, covered in a thin layer of snow. He brushes off the snow and sits down with a sigh, looking out into the night. Candlelit lamps near the building are the only source of light for Laurens as he looks through the tree’s branches and tries to make out the stars. Snowflakes fall onto his face, catching in his eyebrows and eyelashes as he resists sniffling, knowing full well his nose, ears, and fingers are probably red. He wraps his arms around himself and contemplates what to do, where to go. There are no carriages nor wagons in sight, and he certainly could not walk back to camp given the dark. He curses himself for not bringing a coat and huddles into himself, silently praying he doesn’t die or catch frostbite. 

 

***

 

“Elizabeth, I think I am in dire need of another drink, I shall excuse myself-” he is interrupted by Eliza’s hand on his arm as he she stares, pleadingly, up at him.

“Oh, but you cannot depart now. There are so many people that have yet to make your acquaintance!” Alexander stifles a sigh and quickly thinks of how to politely decline. He is saved by Eliza’s sister (whom had been dancing happily with her husband for the past couple of hours), Angelica, as she fondly rests a hand on her younger sister’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Betsey, you’re smothering the poor man,” Eliza’s face turns beet red as she struggles to find a response, hands flailing in all directions. 

“There is no need to apologise, Eliza, I enjoyed every second of time spent with you.” It wasn’t exactly true, but he could not think of anything else to say and he wanted to save her from embarrassing herself. He bows to her once more and kisses her hand again, retreating into the mass of people that had gathered in the centre of the room. Once alone to his thoughts, he seeks out his friend and wonders how much time has past since he last saw him. He is not in the corner where Hamilton had seen him earlier, nor is he dancing or drinking with another familiar face. Concerned, Hamilton makes his way over to Tench Tilghman, who looked to be having a grand time entertaining several women with war stories. He rolls his eyes at the exaggerations and promptly cuts into the conversation.

“Oh? When do we get to the part where you fell off your horse and into a creek?” The women let out unforgiving chuckles as Tilghman glares at Hamilton. 

“I know not of what you speak, Hamilton,” says Tilghman, feigning ignorance as he drinks more to hide the embarrassed flush creeping its way up his neck and onto his face. Hamilton just lets out a low laugh and claps the man on the back, waiting for the women to begin to converse amongst themselves before turning to Tilghman fully. “Have you seen Laurens?” He whispers before Tilghman can even open his mouth. Tilghman blinks, taking another sip of his drink and taking his time to answer, much to Hamilton’s annoyance. 

“I cannot say that I have,” he responds slowly, glancing about the room for the man in question. Hamilton sighs and follows Tilghman’s gaze. Women laughing and men stumbling on their feet, His Excellency himself dancing with his wife, Martha, several onlookers swaying to the music the orchestra provided. But no John. “I thought I saw him talking to Meade earlier, but I could be mistaken,” Tilghman shrugs as Hamilton looks for the other aide and finds him at a table, nearly laying on it. Departing Tilghman’s side with no formal goodbye, Hamilton makes his way over to his other friend, a smile tugging at his lips at the state of Richard Kidder Meade. The poor man could hardly keep his eyes open, mumbling to himself and laughing at something nobody else could hear. 

“Kidder?” Hamilton pokes him and startles the other man. Meade scrambles off the table, about to fall backwards if Hamilton hadn’t grabbed him in time. “How much did you drink?” Meade rubs his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. Hamilton wonders about the headache the man shall have in the morning. 

“Too much,” Meade replies, checking a champagne flute to see if it’s truly empty. It is. He grunts, setting the glass down and looking up at Hamilton expectantly. 

“You should probably drink some water, I’ve heard it helps,” Meade leans against the table, crossing his arms and blinking slowly. 

“Does it now?” He squints as the music becomes louder and Hamilton has to suppress a laugh. Hamilton clears his throat and decides to ask for what he came here for.

“Have you seen Laurens?” He taps on the tablecloth impatiently as Meade thinks of an answer, staring at Hamilton as if he was a rather interesting painting. “Meade.” 

“I don’t...recall...Lawrence?” Hamilton groans, tapping the red cloth harder. 

“No, Meade,  _ Laurens _ !  _ John Laurens _ !” Meade gasps, blinking faster now. 

“Yes, I think I saw him.” Hamilton waits expectantly until he realises Meade is not going to elaborate. 

“Is that all?” Hamilton says through gritted teeth. While he finds it rather humorous to watch his friend so inebriated, it is also very aggravating when he’s trying to get information out of him. Meade looks as if he is about to fall asleep, and Hamilton shoves him gently (not enough to cause him to fall over), jostling him enough to be somewhat more conscious. 

“What did you ask me?” Hamilton wants to shout. He rubs his eyes and realises how fatigued he truly is. He supposes it’s from his patience wearing so thin. 

“Have you seen Laurens? Not Lawrence,  _ John Laurens _ ,” Meade’s mouth parts slightly and he covers it with his hand, stumbling to stand up straighter and pointing to the entrance of the ballroom. 

“I don’t know, Ham, Hamilton...but I, uh...I think he...I think he left, actually,” Hamilton cocks his head, narrowing his eyes.

“What do you mean he left?” Meade laughs, shoving Hamilton a touch harder than he probably meant to.

“I mean he  _ left. _ Out the front door. Back to camp, I guess,” Hamilton glances from the front door to Meade, still confused.

“But why would he just  _ leave _ ? Besides, have you not been outside? It is absolutely frigid, the chill could kill a man!” Meade just shrugs and turns to face Robert Hanson Harrison, who had walked up while Hamilton was not paying attention.

“And what are you two gentlemen discussing? Has to be more interesting than Tilghman’s ‘war stories’ I assume,” Hamilton does not respond, instead, making his way to the front doors and praying that he does not get interrupted. 

“Alexander!” Hamilton resists the urge to groan inappropriately as he turns to face Angelica Schuyler Church, man in arm and beaming smile. 

“Mrs. Church, Mr. Church, I presume?” Angelica’s smile impossibly widens as the man whose arm is intertwined with hers takes a step forward, hand extended. 

“Alexander Hamilton, it is a pleasure,” Hamilton shakes his hand, forcing a smile. He understands that this man is probably intelligent and must be interesting enough for Angelica to be wed to. But now is not the best time to engage in lengthy conversations, seeing as Meade had stolen all of his patience and the only person he wants to talk to may have left entirely. 

“To you as well. May I be excused?” Angelica raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question him as he apologises and retreats out the front door, wincing at the creaking hinges. He navigates his way down the halls and past the hustling servants, forcing his memory in order to find the front doors.

“Sir? Are you lost?” A tentative servant clutches her skirts and shifts nervously on her feet as Hamilton turns to her, slightly startled. 

“Oh, do I look it?” The ghost of a smile shows on the servant’s features as she makes her way over to him slowly, as if he were a volcano about to erupt in any second. 

“Only a tad, sir. I could show you to the exit?” She emanated a tense energy as she stood by him, apprehensively awaiting a response. Hamilton only smiles and nods.

“That would be excellent, thank you,” the servant does a gesture similar to that of a nod and begins to walk, checking behind her every so often to make sure Hamilton is following. She leads him down several halls and stops at the large, wooden double doors. She curtsies and before Hamilton has any time to respond or express his thanks, she hurries away, gone before he can even blink. He inhales a long breath, only exhaling when his hand comes into contact with the cold, iron door handle, and he pulls it open, the biting winds nipping at his exposed skin. 

“Laurens, you fool,” he whispers, rubbing his hands down his arms and wishing for a coat. 

“And yet you are foolish enough to follow me,” Hamilton starts, almost falling into the snow at the sudden voice that seemed to emerge from underneath a large ash tree. Hamilton frowns, squinting against the dark, though he knows it will be of no use.

“John?” Snow crunches under Hamilton’s feet as he stumbles his way to where he thought he heard the voice, only to be pulled down and land rather harshly on the cold wood of a bench. A thin layer of snow covers the bottom of his hand as he tries to steady himself, wiping the watery substance on his breeches. He finally looks up to see his friend. Laurens’s arms are wrapped around his legs, which barely fit on the bench as his head is turned enough to see Hamilton, resting between his legs. “What are you doing out here, it’s freezing!” Hamilton remarks, dusting the snow off of the bench as if it would do anything. 

“I’ve noticed,” Laurens replies dryly, flashing a wry smile that Hamilton can just make out in the darkness, the candlelit lamps being his only source of light. His gaze inspects his friend’s face, admiring how the candlelight makes his honey blond hair turn a sunset orange, his dove blue eyes darkened and almost black, settling for an inky blue, a dot of yellow where the light reflects off his pupils. “You’re staring,” his friend whispers, shifting uncomfortably and turning his head to face the ground instead of Hamilton. 

“How could I not?” He regrets saying it immediately after it comes out of his mouth, clapping a hand over it and looking away, face burning. Those types of thoughts were for his mind only, not for him to share aloud. 

“What?” It comes out as more of a breath than a word, but Hamilton can still hear him. He does not know whether to respond and come up with some excuse as to why he said that, or just not say anything at all. He chooses the former. 

“No, no, nothing inappropriate, I promise, my friend. Just, the light and how it shines perfectly to make your hair into a glorious sunset, and how it makes your eyes look much like the dark blue of the sky, and your skin-” Hamilton stops abruptly, realising that he has made his situation impossibly worse. Silence passes between them, every second agonising. Not even the soft fall of the snow makes noise. Hamilton does not dare to look at his friend, fearing his reaction. He does not want to lose his friendship over this. What was he thinking? How could he do this? He should have shut his mouth and stayed quiet. “I- I did not mean it in an improper manner, if that is where your concerns lay. I was just pointing out the truth,” he keeps talking. Of course he does. It’s all he knows how to do in situations like these (not that he’s been in many). Laurens leans his head against the back of the bench, closing his eyes and smiling a smile that looks all too fake. 

“I know,” he whispers, not opening his eyes, “I’ve seen all the ladies on your arm tonight, I know your comments do not mean anything,” Hamilton frowns, but questions himself before speaking. This is not what he wants his friend to think. He wants his friend to know how much he loves him. He wants him to know that if he could wrap his arms around him and kiss every inch of his face he would. He wants him to know that every night he wishes he were holding him. He wishes he could write him lengthy love letters and recite them to him in person, being able to watch his dearest friend’s reaction as he reads. He wishes he could dance with him like he did with Eliza tonight. He wishes he could tell the world how much he loves him. 

“I want to dance with you,” he says instead, the words coming out rushed and jumbled together. He wonders if Laurens could even hear what he said. His friend opens his eyes, resting his head on his legs again, facing Hamilton, a questioning look burning in his gaze.

“What?” He mumbles, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. Hamilton takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He cannot take back what he said. He does not want to take back what he said.

“I said that I want to dance with you,” he repeats, opening his eyes to find Laurens’s widened in surprise. 

“What possessed you to request such a thing?” His voice is still small, and while his words are firm Hamilton can sense an undertone of uncertainty. Alexander wonders why he has not moved yet, why he has not left Hamilton’s side. Hamilton slides closer to his friend, resting his hand on Laurens’s arm, gazing into his eyes as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. 

“Nothing has possessed me, Laurens. I said that I want to dance with you because I do. I want us to dance for hours, until our limbs are stiff from the cold and our arms are sore from holding each other. I want to dance with you like I have wanted to dance with you all night. If you shall let me, may I have this dance?” He stands from the bench and faces Laurens, whose feet are no longer on the bench and his arms lay limp by his sides. Hamilton offers him his hand, smile widening when Laurens takes it, rising slowly. Laurens looks down at the ground shyly, scuffing the snow with his shoe before glancing back up at Hamilton.

“What kind of dance?” Hamilton shakes his head, taking Laurens’s other hand in his and rubs his thumb across the other man’s knuckles, staring at their clasped hands fondly. 

“I do not want to do a formal dance, I just want to dance. I want to dance a carefree dance, a dance that is not confined to rules and where you must place your feet. I simply wish to dance,” he looks back up to find Laurens biting back a smile, his eyes on the snow beneath them. 

“Very well, then.” Laurens puts his hands around Hamilton’s waist, and Hamilton does the same, grinning as he takes a step back and then a step forward, beginning an easy pattern of steps before Laurens speaks again. “Where is our music?” Hamilton cocks his head, pondering the thought. 

“I shall be our source of music,” he begins to hum and Laurens laughs. Hamilton relishes the sound. Their pattern did not falter while they spoke, and Hamilton takes Laurens’s left hand in his right, confusing the other man only to twirl him around seconds later. Laurens laughs again and Hamilton could sing. 

“What was that?” Laurens speaks in between laughter, both men falling into the earlier pattern of steps. Finally, Hamilton shifts so he’s holding one of Laurens’s hands in his own, and they are now swaying as they step, Laurens shaking his head and eyes alight with mirth. The dance they are performing is nothing that could be written down and repeated, it is simply dancing. It is the movement of feet and the twirling of arms and the toes that might get stepped on once in a while. It is the enjoyment and the laughter and the genuine fondness of the moment. It is not the restricted steps of the minuet or the tiring arm placements of the allemande, it is simply dancing. And Alexander loves every second of it. 

When Hamilton’s voice tires of humming and their feet are numb from the snow, they stop. Hamilton drops one of Laurens’s hands and cups his face with his now free hand. He moves closer to Laurens until the buttons of their waistcoats are touching and Hamilton can see every detail of Laurens’s face. He closes his eyes and thinks of the past years Laurens has been in his life. How he’s been by his side for as long as he has known him, how Hamilton has longed to tangle his fingers in his hair, how he revels in every moment he can make Laurens smile, how he can die happy knowing he has heard Laurens’s laughter.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he murmurs, eyes still closed and heart beating rapidly in his chest that he’s certain Laurens can feel it. He awaits the look of disgust, waits for the other man to push him away and run to the nearest person, to tell them of his sins and-

“I think I’m falling in love with you, as well,” that is not what he expected. He does not expect Laurens to lean forward enough for his forehead to rest against Hamilton’s, does not expect him to close his eyes and  _ smile _ . Hamilton mirrors his expression and is about to say something else when the front doors to the estate burst open, Laurens and Hamilton jolting apart quickly. They hear laughter and slurred words and are not surprised when Lafayette, Tilghman, and Meade slip down the stairs, falling into the snow and laughing, not acknowledging Laurens nor Hamilton’s presence. 

“Excuse me?” Hamilton says with only a hint of annoyance in his tone, loud enough for the three of them to hear him and turn their heads in surprise. 

“Hamilton!” his eyes slide to Laurens, who is standing in the shadows of the tree, as far from the candlelit lamp as he can. “Laurens! Whatever are you doing out here?” He does not give them a chance to respond, however, before he’s scrambling to his feet, dusting off the snow and trying his best not to sway on his feet. He fails. “L-let me call a carriage, we shall finish this party back at camp, non?” He turns to Meade and Tilghman, who give him their thumbs up of approval, and Lafayette makes his way to find a carriage, the other two not far behind. Hamilton glances at Laurens and shrugs, offering him a small smile to which the other man returns before they depart after the other three men. 

 

***

 

Hamilton plants a kiss on Laurens’s forehead, between his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, until Laurens pulls him into a full kiss on the mouth, both men smiling as they wrap their arms around each other, falling into the cot and only breaking the kiss reluctantly to laugh or for air, both unimportant at the moment. Hamilton pulls the blue ribbon from Laurens’s hair and cups his face, memorising every inch of it before leaning in to kiss him once more. He pulls back enough to speak, his forehead resting against John’s.

“I love you. I am certain of it. If I could spend the rest of my life with you, I could. I’ll try,” Laurens laughs softly, putting a finger in front of Hamilton’s mouth before speaking.

“You know we can’t. But, if I could, I would as well. I love you, too, and nothing will ever change that. No matter the distance between us nor the duties of marriage. And, someday, when you find a woman who steals your heart, remember that mine will always be with you.” Hamilton makes a displeased noise and moves Laurens’s finger with his hand.

“That will never happen, because no matter how it may seem from the outside, I am only capable of truly loving one person, and you have already stolen my affections and with it my heart. No matter how hard they try, no woman will ever receive the love I shall give to you,” and with that, candle flickering out and falling asleep in each other’s arms, they dream about a life that could be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading, for I was happy to write it! Comments and Kudos are appreciated but not required (obviously) and I hope you have a swell day/ night!


End file.
